The journey begins

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After months of planning and years of dreaming, at last the journey begins. Up at 3 am and off to catch the airporter bus—thanks to brother Tom sacrificing his early morning sleep. The flight from SF to Phili couldn't have been better. I scored an exit aisle with six feet of legroom on a half-empty flight. Airplane heaven!

Then things got better when a stylin' rather exotic wide-eyed "girl" moved to the window seat in my row. "She" turned out to be Joseph, a SF fashion designer who was originally from the Philippines. We had the best time. Someone please email the results. We chatted about family, relationships and music. We shared food and the five hours slipped by in no time.

The flight from Philli to Paris was not so good. The plane was packed and people were grumpy. After nearly seven hours, we landed at the Charles de Gaulle airport Wednesday morning at 8:00. Since it was too early to check into the hotel, I plopped down on a bench to collect my thoughts and come up with a plan of action. The "action" being how I'm going to get me, and my three pieces of luggage, from the airport to the hotel. All of this stuff fits on a luggage cart—an arrangement I came up with so I could roll my way around Europe and South Africa. The plan being to ditch the cart when my load was lighter and the terrain tougher.

Now, the easy way to get into town is to hire a cab, but I'd just come from the American Express exchange office where my $70 got me 49 Euros! I guess I'd been in economic la-la land. The last I’d checked, the Euro was going for $1.21. From a combination of shock, and the determination that it was time to start behaving like a world traveler, I decided to take the 8 E train into the city. Getting the shuttle to the station was a breeze, but after that, things got very testy. No one wanted to help, and each person sent me in a different direction. One woman yelled at me to go to the place with the BIG WALL OF GLASS. I turned around and every booth had a BIG WALL OF GLASS!

The guy in front of me in the ticket line gave me one of those dismissive looks when I asked if he spoke English, and said "No"! Later, after registering my look of dejection, he came around and actually tried to help—very good English, I might add. I think that's the key as an American—you have to eat a little humble pie. After you've properly been put in your place, they come around. No one wants to come off as nasty.

Finally, I made it to the right counter, bought the right ticket and made my way down a flight of stairs—with the luggage cart—to the train. After several Metro changes, and several flights of stairs, and a walk down a couple of blocks, I arrived on this wonderful very Parisian street where my hotel is located.

It's late, the French keyboard is difficult and I'm tired soooo—to be continued later. I'm having a blast. Getting all your emails was awesome!

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